


As long as I'm yours.

by chrundletheokay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Charlie-typical Waitress stalking, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Nonbinary/Genderfluid Dennis, Post s14, She/her pronouns, anti cop sentiment, as soon as i figure out what an uwu is i'm going to give them all to these terrible people, but both ain't gonna happen, but i think that communicates the aesthetic of this fic pretty well, gender talk, how many times can I say the words soft in one fic, i could edit this more, i think i got it down to seven lmfao, or i could actually post it lmfao, see also: gentle, soft and gentle and queer, wlw Waitress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrundletheokay/pseuds/chrundletheokay
Summary: Dennis looks so comfortable, so at ease and confident in her own skin. It’s a good look on her — one Mac wishes he could see more often, and a feeling he wished Dennis had discovered much sooner in life.[Post-s14 established relationship MacDennis. Sappy, domestic bliss. Far softer than either of these assholes deserve. Featuring: she/her genderfluid Dennis vibes, sappy-in-love Mac, and some high-on-spray-paint Charlie action. Also starring: a silk nightie, petty crime, soft kisses, and lots of swears.]
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	As long as I'm yours.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about nonbinary/genderfluid Dennis. When I started composing this fic in my head, my brain kept filling in she/her pronouns for Dennis. I decided to go with it. If that's weird for you… sorry-not-sorry. But it is consistent throughout the fic.
> 
> (In my mind, Dennis uses different pronouns from day to day, depending on how she's feeling, etc. It's a little new — exploring gender stuff more openly — and she's still figuring things out. Mac knows to check-in periodically to see what's up. But he also just kinda… starts to get better about feeling things out and reading Dennis. Things are left a little ambiguous in the fic, though. Interpret it how you will.)

“You look comfortable,” Mac says as he surveys the scene before him. The living is room dimly lit; the smell of mint tea lingers in the air; and Dennis sits curled up on the sofa, book in hand.

She’s dressed one of her newer purchases: a lacy camisole and matching shorts, with delicate trim around the edges. Dennis being Dennis, the satin material is a rich, deep shade of blue — to bring out the color of her eyes, of course. Over it all, she’s thrown on some sort of kimono or robe — a similar fabric, in a matching shade of blue. Large, blood red flowers are printed all across its surface.

Her new clothes all seem expensive, but Mac figures a lot of research and development must have gone into designing garments like these. The science, then, justifies the cost. The fabric looks so soft and luxurious, so delicate. It looks like it needs to be handled with care, so as not to tear the fine bits of lace, or to rend the smooth weave of the silk. Even so, it’s impossible to see Dennis dressed like this, and not want to reach out and touch.

Dennis looks so comfortable, too. Not just physically, from the feeling of the absurdly soft material brushing against her smooth skin. No, it's more than that; she looks so at ease and confident in her own skin. It’s a good look on her — one Mac wishes he could see more often, and a feeling he wished Dennis had discovered much sooner in life. There’s a subtle distinction between this look and Dennis’ usual displays of confidence and bravado. Scratch below the surface of the Golden God persona, and you find that it’s nothing more than a gilded veneer, covering up layers of shame, anxiety, fear of rejection, desperation, loneliness, and self-loathing. Not that Mac would know anything about that.

So Mac loves this new version of Dennis. He didn't know it was possible to be any more in love with her than he had been. Yet there Dennis is in her new pajamas, proving Mac wrong once again. Unfortunately, he hasn't figured out a way of explaining any of this that will feel affirming rather than embarrassing for Dennis.

As Mac makes his way over to her, Dennis at last looks up from her book with a warm smile. “Oh, hey,” she greets him. Her reading glasses are perched low on her nose, and she fumbles to remove them.

“No, no, keep ‘em on,” Mac encourages her. “You look good. It’s hot.”

Dennis scowls. “It is _not.”_

“Okay, you look like a bit of a nerd. But, like, a _sexy_ nerd.”

Dennis rolls her eyes, refusing to dignify his comments with a response. They've argued about this before, and she refuses to budge.

“What’re you reading?”

“It’s that Kurt Vonnegut book where everyone turns to ice at the end,” Dennis answers with a lopsided grin. Her eyes take on a wistful quality as she thumbs at the book’s pages thoughtfully. “God, can you imagine being the last person left on Earth after everyone is turned to ice? It’s like… ' _Finally,_ some fucking _quiet._ You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.'” She sighs a little.

It’s a mildly disturbing line of thought, but Mac can’t help but laugh.

“So what’d you and Charlie get up to," Dennis asks. "You get into any trouble?”

Mac shudders. “You didn’t miss much. The kid’s a mess,” he answers, and launches into a colorful retelling of his evening.

That morning — as Dennis knew — Charlie had come into the bar, frantically shouting all sorts of disjointed nonsense. "We've got an emergency on our hands, guys. Huge emergency! Code Red! Code Red with the Waitress," he'd screamed. "Or maybe it’s blue. Shit, I dunno."

It turns out the Waitress is dating a cop. As far as Mac is concerned, that seems like merely the newest in an unending series of reasons why Charlie should move on and forget about her. After all, who wants to date a cop? And who wants to date the kind of person who would date a cop? Besides, with the Gang’s history of dubiously legal behavior, associating with a known cop sympathizer is asking for trouble.

When Charlie invited Mac and Dennis to hang out after closing, Mac had been reluctant to agree. Dennis had said no, in no uncertain terms. She had been right to do so. Because despite Charlie’s vehement promises that his plans had “nothing to do with the Waitress,” his plans were _all about_ the Waitress.

That’s how Mac found himself standing in the dark next to Charlie, outside the Waitress’ shitty apartment building. Charlie pointed to a window on the second floor. The blinds were drawn, but warm yellow light was glowing from within.

“That’s her,” Charlie said, and pulled a can of spray paint out of his jacket. He then proceeded to explain his plan. The two of them were going to spray paint anti-cop slogans onto the side of the Waitress’ apartment building. Upon seeing the tags, these messages would subtly worm their way into the Waitress' subconscious. Eventually, she would realize her mistake, break up with the cop, and fall back in love with Charlie.

“But,” Charlie whispered, “we have to be careful. ‘Cause she’s a lady cop, and we don’t want to seem homophobic.”

There were so many problems with Charlie's plan, but that seemed as good a place as any to start. “How’s it homophobic?" he demanded, his voice a low, frustrated hiss. "Dude, if we just write ‘fuck the police,’ or whatever, how’s that homophobic? It has nothing to do with being gay!"

“It does because the cop is a lesbian,” Charlie shouted, then clamped a hand down over his mouth, realizing how loud he just was. “Or maybe she’s bi; I dunno,” he added in a much quieter voice.

“Jesus Christ,” Mac muttered.

Charlie pulled out a paint-stained sock out of his jacket pocket, and took a few hits of spray paint from within it. He  clearly hadn’t thought out what messages he wanted to leave. Or if he had, the paint high wiped all those thoughts from his mind.  “Ok, so what if I just put, like…” He took another huff of spray paint. “Don’t date cops. But not in a homophobic way. Like, be gay, but don't be gay with cops.”

“That’s way too many words, dude," Mac pointed out.  Besides, there was no way Charlie could spell all of that.

“What about…” Charlie snickered. “Fuck the police, but don’t _fuck_ the police.” He definitely had a good high going, if the thought of the Waitress sleeping with someone else didn’t bother him. “Don’t fuck the police,” Charlie repeated with a giggle. He took another hit of spray paint.

“Jesus Christ,” Mac repeated. “Give it to me. Give it here.”

Doing it himself seemed like the best option at that point. If Mac had to be involved in defacing a building with anti-cop graffiti, it had to be tasteful, not Charlie's usual illiterate drivel. On top of that, a quick calculation determined this was the fasted, most efficient way to get the job done. That meant less chance of getting arrested (again), and it meant getting back home to Dennis.

So that's how Mac found himself tagging the side of a South Philly apartment building with anti-cop graffiti. All across the aged bricks, he spray painted an assortment of graffiti he'd seen around the city: _Fuck the Police, ACAB, 1312, Fire to the Prisons,_ and _Be Gay Do Crime._ Then, for good measure, he added the transgender symbol and a circle-A for anarchy. His lettering was, admittedly, sloppy at first. It had been ages since he and Charlie had tagged shit together. Thankfully, muscle memory kicked in as he went, and his letters evened out slightly.

Taking a few big steps back, Mac surveyed his work. It was a little overkill, to be honest. Still, if all of that wasn’t enough to send a message, nothing would be.

“Anyway, just about then, I heard a noise,” Mac explains, back in the safety of his and Dennis' warm living room. “I can't remember what, but I was pretty sure it was the Waitress’ cop girlfriend. Although, come to think of it, I dunno how I knew that. So I was all, like: _Run, Charlie!_ And the kid just hauled ass and ran straight into this big row of trash cans.”

Dennis snorts with laughter. “Fuckin’ dumbass. That’s what happens when you get high while committing petty crimes.”

“Yeah, right?" Mac exclaims. "And Dennis — these were _metal_ garbage cans. The _noise_ , babe. You would not believe it! I thought we were done for, for sure.”

In the end, he and Charlie escaped unscathed, with their criminal records no more sullied than before. Mac had to yank Charlie out of the pile of garbage cans, dragging him out of there with a hand around Charlie's wrist. He dropped the kid off at home, going so far as to walk him upstairs and deliver him personally to Frank at their apartment door. As high as Charlie was, Mac didn't want to risk him wandering out and getting into more trouble.

“Anyway, it was… a lot,” Mac concludes with a weary sigh. “I think you had the right idea, staying home.”

Dennis hums quietly.

“Did you miss me?” he murmurs into Dennis’ curls. “I missed you,” he says, without waiting for a response. Dennis isn’t always able to give honest answers to questions like that — paradoxically, that kind of talk from Mac can make her cagey and insecure — but Mac knows her answer all the same.

“You look pretty, you know. So fuckin’ gorgeous.” He brushes his lips against her temple, in a soft, barely-there kiss.

Dennis glances up, then averts her eyes. “It’s still not weird for you,” she asks hesitantly.

“No. _God,_ no. It’s—I love it.”

“Really?” The relief in Dennis' voice is so transparent it makes something in Mac’s chest ache. The idea that she has any doubt about Mac’s acceptance and love stings — not because she doubts Mac ability to love her, but because she doubts her ability to be loved.

“Really,” Mac sighs. He curls into Dennis’ side then, resting his head on her shoulder. “Dennis, honey. Look. We’re in our forties now, and I just feel like… we’re finally figuring out how to be comfortable in our own skin, y’know? Both of us. And it’s just, like…” He trails off, uncertain how to put it. Dennis has always been better with words, even if she generally doesn't like to put them to use in talking about her feelings.

“What,” Dennis prompts him quietly.

“This is my home, y’know? Right here,” he murmurs. Gently, he places the palm of his hand on her chest, right over the steady beat of her heart. The edges of her camisole are smooth as gossamer against his skin. She draws in a harsh breath. “Not this apartment. But _this,_ right here.”

Mac reaches for Dennis' hand and places it on his own chest, over his heart. “And you, right here.”

“Marry me,” Dennis blurts out. She immediately freezes, wide-eyed, as if taken aback by her own words.

“Yes. God, yes,” Mac answers, with not even a moment of consideration, not a even millisecond for Dennis to change her mind and retract her words.

“Yeah?” Dennis asks hesitantly.

Mac laughs breathily. “Jesus, yes. Can you imagine any scenario in which I wouldn’t say yes?”

Dennis falters. “It’s just—Shit,” she hisses. “I was gonna do it so much better than that. I had it so good in my head, Mac. I had, like, a thousand different scenarios for how I was gonna ask you, and that was none of them.”

With her free hand, Dennis grips at the hand Mac still has resting on her chest. It's just shy of painful, but she likely doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Mac pries his hand free. Holding Dennis' hands in his, Mac rubs and kneads from her palms to her fingertips. He's seen Dee do this on a few occasions when Dennis has gotten upset and started clenching her hands into fists, looking at risk of punching a wall, a person, or both.

“It was perfect, sweetheart. I swear,” he reassures Dennis. “Definitely better than what I had. 'Course, I was sure you had a plan, anyway. Either for how you were gonna ask me, or how you wanted me to ask you. You know?”

Dennis nods. Her hands are relaxed now; her whole body looks more relaxed. Mac tugs her closer. She readjusts herself on the sofa. Mac follows, as Dennis wraps herself around him, her arms circled loosely around his waist, and her face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“I mean, I had a couple ideas, at least," Mac continues. "But I was all… ‘You know how she can be.’ Like, when you have your mind set on something, God help anyone who tries to get in the way of you getting _what_ you want, _when_ you want, and _how_ you want it.”

Dennis huffs indignantly.

“What? It’s true," Mac laughs, rubbing a hand up and down her back, hoping it takes the sting out of his words. "And you know I love that about you. It’s gotten us out of a lot of jams before. So I just decided, y'know, ‘We’ll play it by ear. See what she’s got planned, try to get a feel for it.”

Dennis sits quiet and still for a few minutes; Mac's hand continues running over her back, brushing across the silken fabric there as he waits for a response of any kind.

“You remembered,” Dennis says at last, her voice wavering with emotion she’s clearly trying to repress.

“Hmm?”

“The—the pronoun thing. You remembered,” she repeats.

Mac frowns, although Dennis can’t see it. “‘Course I did,” he responds. “I love you, and you’re important to me. So it’s important to me that I get this right.”

Dennis leans back, cupping Mac’s face in her hands. Her eyes are suspiciously watery.

Mac scrunches up his face. “What? Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a big deal, Den.”

Dennis clears her throat, and blinks hard a few times, dropping her hands to her lap. Her fingers play at the hem of her robe.

“You know, it’s probably okay that I didn’t ask you the way I wanted to,” she says, apropos of nothing. Something about her tone — the hint of hesitation or uncertainty to it, perhaps — indicates she’s looking for reassurance. “We’re basically already married anyway.”

“Oh, for sure! If you think about it, we kind of did everything backwards from how most people do it, right? We moved in together and had a joint bank account before we so much as, like, _kissed._ Or went on a first date. I mean, we were basically married before I really even figured out I was gay," Mac brushes a hand through Dennis' curls. "Before I realized how in love with you I was."

Dennis nods slightly against his shoulder. Intuition and Dennis' silence make it clear she's still a little upset.

Mac tips her chin up with gentle fingers against her jawline. He places a soft kiss on her lips, which taste faintly of mint tea and lipstick. “What d’you say you take me out to dinner tomorrow night and tell me about some of your proposal ideas,” he suggests in a whisper.

Immediately, Dennis’ eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! It’ll be way more better this way. Like, this way, you can tell me all of them, ‘stead of just doing the one.”

Dennis' face splits into a huge smile. It’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds on an overcast day. The warmth of it sinks through to Mac’s core, filling his heart to bursting. It's almost more than he can bear.

“We could do, like, a proposal a night,” Dennis suggests eagerly.

“Shit, yeah,” Mac exclaims. He ducks to press another kiss to Dennis’ lips — firmer this time, letting himself linger a little. “Okay, but can I tell you one of mine now?”

“Yes. Please. Do,” Dennis instructs, breathy and seemingly dazed.

“Okay, so you know those stupid gender reveal parties that straight, cis people do? With, like, the cakes—”

_“God,”_ she groans. “Where you cut ‘em open, and the gender binary spills out?”

“Yeah,” laughs Mac. “So I thought, what if I did that, but, like… I dunno, rainbow M&Ms spill out, or rainbow Skittles. Something gay. Then there’s little tiny pictures of you and me stuffed inside. Or maybe one big one on top, like one of those edible things they print up for you at the cake store. Plus, maybe there's an engagement ring hidden somewhere in there. Or—Oh, shit. Dennis. Hey. It's not just an engagement ring; it's an en- _gay_ -gement ring.” Mac bursts into laughter at both the play on words and the growing look of horror on Dennis' face.

“God, Mac, that’s… that's terrible, babe. That’s truly heinous. Like, tacky as shit, man. Oh, and by the way, men don’t really _do_ engagement rings.”

“Well, that’s just reverse sexist,” Mac responds flippantly.

Dennis shakes her head. "Again, that's not a thing."

Much like Dennis' reading glasses, the issue of reverse sexism has led to repeated disagreements between the two of them. Mac mostly sees Dennis' side of things at this point. Nevertheless, he likes to bring it up on occasion, purely to get a rise out of Dennis. It's clear neither of them have an interest in fake fighting at the moment, though. Not when there are so many better things to do. _Far_ better things to do.

So Mac lets one arm slip low on Dennis' waist, and then it's more soft kisses and Dennis' arms winding around his neck. Her tongue quickly finds its way into Mac's mouth, hot and eager, pushing insistently for more. All the while, Mac's fingers play through Dennis' hair. She's recently let it grow a little long again — into gentle waves, dyed a warm honey brown, which Mac luxuriates in running his fingers through. And Dennis, as ever, loves when Mac winds his fingers around a strand of hair and tugs, firmly but carefully. That's for later, though.

Dennis is the first to pull away for breath. “You know, now that we’re officially engaged…” She trails off. It sounds promising, suggestive. _Later_ may come sooner than Mac anticipated.

“Yeah?” Mac says eagerly. He pulls Dennis even closer, hitching one of her legs over his own. Dennis follows eagerly, straddling his lap, and leaning in close to whisper in his ear: “You’re not allowed to fuck me now.”

“Wait, what?” Mac feels like he's just had the rug pulled out from under him.

Dennis leans back with a wicked grin. “I don’t make the rules, baby boy. You're the one who's Catholic, not me. And you know what God says about premarital sex," she teases him.

"Uh, that you can't have _post-_ marital sex if the Church doesn't let you get married in the first place," Mac suggests.

Dennis makes a _tsk-tsk_ sound with her tongue, shaking her head as if to shame him. As if such a thing were even possible. "You want me to be able to wear white at our wedding, don’t you? Then you gotta make an honest woman out of me first."  As soon as the words leave her mouth, Dennis flinches. “That was a joke," she explains. “I didn’t mean… I’m not a… still not…”

“I know,” Mac says, pressing a kiss, warm and open-mouthed, to that spot on her neck that drives her wild. “I know, sweetheart.”

Dennis sighs. Her fingers twitch along Mac’s waist, digging into the loose fabric of his worn t-shirt. She tips her head back and hums in contentment as Mac continues working warm kisses along her pulse point.

“Hey, you didn’t really mean it about the no sex thing, did you?” Mac asks, for the sake of clarity. It didn't _seem_ like it, but it feels important to know for sure — preferably before Mac allows himself to get too worked up. Although, from the feel of things, Dennis is already there. “I mean, if you did, that’s… _cool?_ I guess? Because consent, and stuff. But—”

“Mac,” Dennis cuts him off. _“Baby._ What do you think?”

Mac shrugs. "I mean…"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I’m fucking with you, baby boy.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Dennis hums in vague assent. Pleased, Mac works a hand under her soft camisole, his fingers trailing aimlessly over Dennis' bare skin. Her eyes flutter shut and she tips forward to rest her forehead on Mac's shoulder for a moment. Fortunately, he doesn't have much time to wonder where exactly Dennis wants to take this, before Dennis answers for him.

"I think you should fuck me," she purrs, low and sultry into his ear.

"What, now?"

"Unless you've got something better to do," Dennis answers with a shrug of one shoulder.

"Fuck no," Mac breathes.

—

"Hey, Dennis," Mac murmurs later that night. "When we get married, what'll I call you?"

The question can — and probably should — wait until the morning. Dennis looks exhausted, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. It's probably not fair to have this conversation when she's so tired. Caught up in a dizzying mix of nerves and excitement, however, Mac's mind won't stop racing.

Dennis snuffles sleepily into Mac's shoulder. "Dennis," she answers at length, her voice thick with sleep. "Reynolds. M'not takin' your last name. Hamburger mascot…"

"No, I mean, like… I wanna be your husband," he explains. "I want you to call me that. So… what do I call you?"

"I'll be your husband," she mumbles slowly and tonelessly, obviously groggy and half out of it. "Be your partner. Or your spouse. Your whatever. Don't give a shit, long as I'm yours."

That's how Mac knows for sure just how exhausted Dennis is. It's the kind of thing she would never say if she were fully conscious and in her right mind. He feels a twinge of guilt for disturbing her sleep, but that feeling is far surpassed by his feelings of euphoria at hearing her words.

Dennis grumbles slightly and hushes him. It's almost as if she can sense Mac's mind continuing to race at a hundred miles an hour. Either that, or she feels Mac's heart racing under the palm of her hand, which is resting lightly on his chest once more. "Go t'sleep, love," she mutters.

"Hey Dennis?" Mac cranes his neck down and places one last kiss on the crown of her head.

"Hmmm."

"I love you."

She hums a vague but happy sound of affirmation. "Love you too, baby boy."

At last, Mac takes mercy on her and lets her sleep. After all, they have a lot of wedding planning to do in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about genderfluid Dennis with me on tumblr: @chrundletheokay, same as here.
> 
> P.S. I recently learned that the state of Pennsylvania recognizes "self-uniting marriages," a.k.a. "Quaker marriages," which "only require the signatures of two witnesses in place of an officiant."* Am I saying that Charlie, Dee, and Frank could do that for Mac and Dennis' wedding? Mayhaps. Mayhaps I am. Something to think about, anyway.
> 
> *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-uniting_marriage#Pennsylvania


End file.
